


Marry Me

by anythingbutgrief



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-09 21:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1999065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anythingbutgrief/pseuds/anythingbutgrief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian proposes......sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marry Me

"Goddammit, Mick," Ian breathed out raggedly, panting hard under the weight of Mickey’s body curled up on top of him, seconds after collapsing on Ian after he’d ridden them to the finish line.

"Yeah?" Mickey murmured against his chest, lips pressing a light kiss above the nearest nipple.

Ian blew his breath out forcefully and tangled his hand into Mickey’s hair, rocking him back and forth as Mickey kept kissing his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, fuck. Fucking marry me, Mick,” Ian groaned out, petting Mickey’s hair more and more slowly as sleep edged up on him. “Like  _now_.” 

"Okay." There was a tremor in Mickey’s voice that snapped Ian’s eyes back open, his body fighting against the fuzzy fog of post-orgasm laziness. What was that edge of fear in Mickey’s voice? What could be wrong now? 

"Okay, what?" Ian said, bending his neck to get a look at his boyfriend’s wide unblinking gaze for a second before Mickey scoffed and looked away.

"You really gonna make me say—- _okay, I will_ ,” he stressed.

"You’ll  _what_?” Ian said, scrunching up his forehead in confusion. Mickey stared up at him, clearly irritated for a second before the color drained from his face, and only then did Ian catch on.

“ _Oh_. Oh, Mickey, I didn’t—I—-I’m—-I,” Ian stammered helplessly as Mickey pried his sweaty limbs from Ian’s body, his mouth having flattened into a hard thin line. “ _Mickey_.” Ian reached for Mickey’s shoulder, trying to turn him back around rather than face the wall, away from Ian, but he shrugged him off. “Mick, I’m—” 

"Don’t worry about it," Mickey grunted.

Ian stared at his back for a few more seconds before reaching out to brush his fingers against Mickey’s bare shoulder, still damp from sweat. He felt Mickey stiffen under his touch, but he didn’t pull away. “I didn’t….mean it like that, but I… You know, I—”

"Ugh, Jesus, Ian, just leave it." He curled up into a smaller bundle on his side of the bed, folding his legs up away from Ian. 

Ian stared at him, the back of his hair still fucked up from sex and from Ian’s petting, his small feet sticking out from under the sheet. Ian wanted to reach out to tickle them, make the serious air of the situation dissipate, but Mickey’s stiff position, probably so uncomfortable, like he was trying to keep himself so rigid his sleeping body wouldn’t roll over and touch Ian, told him it wouldn’t be that easy, not when Mickey felt tricked into giving everything for nothing, given his life for a joke. How could Ian say, “when I said 'marry me,' right in that moment, I didn’t mean it like that, but I  _do_  mean it like that, all the time, so marry me?” 

Ian was still battling with the phrasing in his head when Mickey broke the silence with his back still turned. “These things are so small to you, aren’t they?” Mickey asked in a quiet voice. “Like, no big deal, just throw that sentence around like it’s nothing.”

Ian felt defensive and he didn’t know why. “You’re the one who thinks it’s nothing. Just a piece of paper, remember?”

Mickey turned back around at that. His throat worked visibly and he shook his head. “Yeah, but not….not with us.” 

The quiet admission made Ian’s chest ache, it was so honest and raw, and he reached forward to cup Mickey’s jaw. “I’m sorry, Mick, I didn’t mean to….it just slipped out, all right?”  _I didn’t mean to make it seem like it was no big deal, like I haven’t thought about it, like it wouldn’t mean the world to me_ , Ian thought, but bit back the words now because Mickey had shook himself out of Ian’s touch, slipping back impossibly closer to the wall. Ian was starting to get angry, and those words didn’t deserve to be spoken when he was feeling so ugly. He just stayed quiet another minute, watching as Mickey’s forehead twitched, as he tore his eyes away from Ian. 

"We’ve both said things we don’t mean before," Mickey said, and now his voice was so calm and measured and careful and low, it scared Ian. "It’s fine." 

"No, it’s not fine. I know it isn’t. Will you just—"

"It  _is_ , though,” Mickey insisted. “It’s not your fault. I should’ve—I should’ve known better. Okay? It’s fine. Just forget about it.”

"Should’ve known better how? Like what, you should have just assumed that I didn’t mean it?"

Mickey met his gaze solidly. He didn’t have to nod. The message was clear in how he stared Ian down, jaw tight. 

"Oh,  _Mickey.”_ Ian felt his face crumple, and his eyesight went blurry, but he pushed toward Mickey and didn’t stop until he had his fingers wrapped around the fabric of the sheet around him, pulling their bodies together. “Mickey,  _no_.” 

"It’s really okay," Mickey whispered, wrapping a hand around Ian’s lower back, pushing him closer. "It’s okay." 

"It’s fucking not, though, it’s, I’m—" Ian buried his face into Mickey’s neck, screwing his eyes shut as tightly as possible to avoid crying onto him, too. Mickey had allowed himself to believe, for one bright shining beautiful moment, that Ian could want him around forever, just one gorgeous moment that Mickey thought could stretch on and on and on, and Ian had blinked and missed it, and Ian had crushed it beneath his heel without even looking, and he’d trampled on Mickey’s belief without even trying, and Ian could fucking crumble to dirt, he hated himself so much.

How could he have ever allowed Mickey to doubt himself this much? He pulled and pulled at the sheet around Mickey until he heard him muttering softly against his ear, “Easy, easy, it’s okay,” and of course Mickey would have to comfort him, of course he’d be the strong one here, of course Ian’s fucking poisonous weakness wasn’t enough to make him hurt Mickey, it also had to make sure he had no way of fixing it, ever, because Mickey would always be the one picking up the pieces. Ian would always be the one putting them there in the first place. 

He kissed Mickey’s neck, licked at him like he was his last meal on Earth, and whispered, “What do you want? What do you want, just tell me, Mick, I’ll give it to you.” 

Mickey pushed at Ian’s shoulders until he was flattened back down onto the bed, then rolled them over until Ian was on top. He leaned up, pressed his lips against Ian’s, light and quick. “Just—just fuck me again.”

*** 

Ian had waited two full nights, till the house was quiet again, to bring it back up, whispering the words into their dark bedroom. “What can I do? To convince you this is what I really want?”

Mickey had already had his hand around Ian’s wrist before he spoke up, and now he played with his fingers, circling around Ian’s knuckles. “If I knew, don’t you think I’d tell you?”

"Uh, no, because you’re a stubborn son of a bitch and you don’t like telling me shit."

That earned him a smile, at least, and it looked real this time, cutting through the dark of the room like a lamppost, so Ian kept going. “Unless I force you. But…I don’t wanna force you. I’m fucking—I fucking hate that it’s always a goddamn struggle.” 

Mickey frowned, his eyebrows pushed together at that, and he circled his fingers around Ian’s wrist, grip tighter now. “It’s not always a struggle.”

"When has it not been? For years we can’t even talk to each other, and then when we get there, my fucking brain blows everything to shit. And now things are supposed to be better," Ian huffed out a humorless laugh. "Whatever the fuck that means. And I can’t even propose to you right. We don’t even get to have that."

"You sound tired of it," Mickey said dully, even as his fingers kept moving over the back of Ian’s hand.

Ian sighed, long and low. Somehow he’d wandered into a minefield. If he said “yes, fucking yes I am tired of this shit,” it’d just be more proof to Mickey that he wasn’t worth staying with, that Ian didn’t think they could last. And if he said “no…..” Well, wouldn’t that be a lie? And wouldn’t Mickey be able to see right through it? 

He turned his hand up to tangle his fingers with Mickey before speaking. “I am never tired of  _you_.” 

***

"Marry me, Mickey."

"Go to sleep, Ian."

"I’m not giving up, you know."

"Oh, no," Mickey groaned, stealing Ian’s pillow to stuff under his head. "God fucking forbid you do that." 

And for a second Ian was amused, and let himself smile at Mickey’s sleepy grumpy expression, at the fact that Mickey knew him so well to know that giving up just wasn’t in his nature, but then…

That was the problem, wasn’t it? It was in his nature not to give up, to be a stubborn bastard about it, to want to win. For all Mickey knew it was a matter of principle now, like winning an argument over who should hold the remote, not declaring how much he loved Mickey. Mickey knew him so well, and he could use that to lie to himself, could reframe all of Ian’s familiar behavior to fit what he’d already decided to be true.

Ian would have to surprise him somehow.

He would have to let Mickey win.

He would have to give up. 

***

"I bought something today." Ian pushed the ring into Mickey’s hand. "There." 

Mickey looked down at it and swallowed, but he didn’t close his fist around it, and gestured for Ian to take it back. “Ian, I fucking told you—”

"Look. Look just listen to me for a second. You don’t have to wear it. You don’t have to take it. I can keep it for you until you decide you want it, and if you never want it, I’ll just keep it. But I’m gonna wear mine, okay?" And now Ian pulled out the other ring and quickly slipped it onto his finger to show Mickey. "You’re it for me, you know? And you’re gonna be it tomorrow, and it the next day, and after that, and you know, you get the idea. And even if you leave, you’ll still be it. I’ll still be wearing this." Ian took the ring out of Mickey’s hand and put it into his pocket.

Mickey’s eyes locked onto that pocket, rather than look at Ian’s face when he spoke. “Ian, this is the dumbest fucking thing you’ve ever—”

Ian cut him off again. “No, see, I haven’t even started on the dumb part yet. So just wait till you make fun of me. Save your energy.” He took Mickey’s hand again, feeling Mickey’s sweat bead under his fingers. “You thought that when I said it, the first time, I didn’t mean it, because it came out so easy, but Mick, the only reason it did was because I’ve been saying it for fucking ever. Just not out loud.” He swallowed, stared down at Mickey’s hand. “I say it every time you kiss me and make me breakfast and ask me how I’m feeling and play with my hair and every time we fuck and every time I look at you, I say it. So it just felt…no big deal because I’ve always been saying it to you. Sometimes I forget that you don’t hear all that. Which is fucking stupid because I know I’m the same way, because you say it all the time, too, and I act like you don’t say it enough, and I’m sorry, but—” He trailed off, shook his head at himself. He was getting off-topic. “Anyway. Now you’ll know. When I’m saying it. ‘Cause I’ll have this on, to remind you, that’s what I mean. So.” He dropped Mickey’s hand, then got up to walk over to the television. “I thought we could have a movie night.” 

He watched Mickey’s eyes follow his hand when he slipped out the DVD case for Mickey’s favorite movie, when he leaned back into the couch and started rubbing gentle patterns into Mickey’s nearest ankle.  _Marry me, marry me, marry me, marry me, marry me, marry me, marry me, marry me_ , his hands were saying. _Marry me_. 

For a month, for two, the ring insisted,  _Marry me, marry me, marry me, marry me._

***

Mickey had waited until Ian was on the brink of sleep, again, the fucker, liking to start shit when Ian was as unguarded as possible.

But Ian could work with that. Wanted to work with that.

"Can I have my damn ring?" Mickey rasped out against his ear. 

Ian was fully awake again in a second, hands coming up to anchor Mickey’s head in face, so he could look him directly in the eyes. “Are you—do you mean—-“

"Yes, yes, come on, Princess Bride, get with the program." 

Ian’s hands shook as he clambered over to the box on the side of the bed where he kept it, still shaking when he grabbed Mickey’s hand to slip it on, so hard that he missed the ring finger entirely on his first try, and Mickey reached out with his other hand to grab at Ian’s wrist, drawing calming circles there until Ian exhaled shakily and finally got steady enough to slip the damn thing on his finger. 

He looked down at the sight for a second, the two of them wearing the rings, their hands pressed together, before launching forward to smash his mouth against Mickey’s.

"I love you," he panted out against his mouth when they broke for air, feeling Mickey paw gracelessly at the side of his face, fingers slipping behind his ear. 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Mickey said back, voice almost mocking, skin flushing hot under Ian’s touch.

"So—fucking—much," Ian continued between kisses. "So much."

"I—"

Ian cut Mickey off with his mouth, before pulling back just enough to speak again. “I am gonna marry the shit out of you.”

Mickey’s honest, unguarded laughter at that, the way his eyes were twinkling right under Ian’s, had him shove him on his back onto the bed, Ian’s body still clinging to him like the barest amount of space between them was poison. “The  _shit_ ,” he promised. “Every fucking day. I am gonna marry you every—single—fucking— _day_.” 

Mickey laughed again, now stroking the back of Ian’s head leisurely, lazily smiling up at him. “Not every night, then?”

Ian slid his mouth over Mickey’s cheek, down around his jaw, just under his chin, along the vein and his neck and up to the lobe of his ear. “Weddings for the mornings. Proposals at night.” 

"Divorces in the afternoon?" Mickey said. 

It was a joke. Maybe. Probably. Didn’t matter. It still made Ian kiss Mickey so deeply he thought he might disappear entirely. He pulled back panting so hard he thought he was going to pass out, Mickey stroking the sides of his ribcage, a concerned, questioning look in his eye. Ian shook his head as he caught his breath, but smiled as soon as he was able, dropping a much gentler kiss on his lips. “Never. Never for that.” 

Ian kissed him again for a minute, before dropping next to him and tangling their hands together. “You know we’re gonna have an actual ceremony, too, right?”

Mickey groaned, playfully kicking at Ian’s feet under the blanket. “Why the fuck did I agree to marry your nagging ass?”

"Because you love me." 

"Yeah, yeah," he sighed, clearly aiming to sound inconvenienced but merely achieving fondness. 

"And because I love you," Ian added, tone as serious as possible. "That, too, Mick." 

He turned to look at Mickey chew on his bottom lip, his eyes sliding shut, but his voice was confident, clear, unbroken as he answered, “Yeah. That, too.” 


End file.
